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Matthew 25 — The King has been watching from places you never expected
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Matthew 25 — The King has been watching from places you never expected
10 min read
fresh.bible editorialprophecy
application
application
culture
culture
culture
You've never met a mere mortal. Every person you've ever talked to is an eternal being. Lewis thought that should change how you treat them.
Abraham was a migrant. Moses was a refugee. Jesus was smuggled across a border as an infant. The Bible knows displacement.
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is still on the , still looking out over , still answering the question his asked about the end of the age. He's already told them about wars, false , and the signs to watch for. Now he shifts from when to how — how to live in the waiting. And he tells three stories, each one raising the stakes.
All three land in the same place: a door shuts, an account is settled, a King separates. The question running through every scene is the same one that runs through every life — what are you doing with the time you've been given?
opened with a wedding — and in that culture, everyone understood the setup. A group of young women were responsible for meeting the bridegroom with lit lamps when he arrived for the . It was an honor. A responsibility. And nobody knew exactly when he'd show up:
"The Kingdom of Heaven will be like ten bridesmaids who took their lamps and went out to meet the bridegroom. Five of them were foolish, and five were wise. The foolish ones brought their lamps but didn't bring extra oil. The wise ones brought flasks of oil along with their lamps.
The bridegroom took longer than anyone expected, and they all grew drowsy and fell asleep.
Then at midnight — a shout: 'The bridegroom is here! Come out to meet him!'
All ten jumped up and trimmed their lamps. But the foolish ones realized their lamps were going out. They turned to the wise ones: 'Give us some of your oil — we're running out.'
The wise ones said, 'There won't be enough for all of us. Go to the dealers and buy your own.'
While they were gone, the bridegroom arrived. The ones who were ready went in with him to the wedding feast. And the door was shut."
Then came the part that should make you stop and think:
"Later, the other bridesmaids came knocking. 'Lord, lord, open up for us!'
But he answered, 'I tell you the truth — I don't know you.'
So stay alert. You don't know the day or the hour."
Here's what's easy to miss: all ten fell asleep. That wasn't the difference. The difference was what they'd prepared before they fell asleep. Five had oil. Five didn't. And when the moment came — the moment nobody could predict — there was no time to go get what you should have already had. Readiness isn't a last-minute thing. It's a life thing. You can't borrow someone else's relationship with God when the moment arrives.
moved straight to a second story — same theme, different angle. This time it's not about waiting. It's about working:
"It's like a man going on a journey who called his servants and entrusted his property to them. To one he gave five talents, to another two, to another one — each according to their ability. Then he left.
The one with five talents immediately went to work and earned five more. The one with two talents did the same — earned two more. But the one who received one talent went and dug a hole in the ground and buried his master's money."
A talent wasn't a skill — it was a massive amount of money, roughly twenty years' wages. This wasn't pocket change. The master was entrusting real wealth based on what he knew each person could handle. And two of the three did exactly what you'd : they took what they were given and put it to work.
But one buried it. Not because he didn't have enough. Because he was afraid.
After a long time, the master returned. And the accounting began:
"The servant with five talents came forward: 'Master, you gave me five talents. Look — I've earned five more.'
His master said, 'Well done, good and faithful servant. You were faithful with a little, so I'll put you in charge of much more. Come and share in your master's joy.'
The servant with two talents came forward: 'Master, you gave me two talents. Look — I've earned two more.'
His master said, 'Well done, good and faithful servant. You were faithful with a little, so I'll put you in charge of much more. Come and share in your master's joy.'"
Notice something? The master said the exact same thing to both. Five talents or two — it didn't matter. He didn't compare their results. He rewarded their . The servant with two wasn't told, "Nice try, but look at what the other guy did." He heard the same words, the same , the same invitation into more.
That matters. Because most of us spend our lives measuring ourselves against what someone else was given. Different starting points, different capacities, different opportunities — and we think God grades on the same scale. He doesn't. He's looking at what you did with yours.
Then the third servant stepped forward. And the tone changed:
"The servant who had received one talent came and said, 'Master, I knew you to be a hard man. You harvest where you didn't plant and gather where you didn't scatter seed. I was afraid, so I went and hid your talent in the ground. Here — you have what's yours.'
His master answered: 'You wicked, lazy servant! You knew that I harvest where I haven't planted and gather where I haven't scattered? Then you should have at least invested my money with the bankers so I would have received it back with interest when I returned.
Take the talent from him and give it to the one who has ten. For everyone who has will be given more, and they will have an abundance. But the one who has nothing — even what they have will be taken away.
Throw this worthless servant into the outer darkness, where there will be weeping and grinding of teeth.'"
Let this land for a moment. The third servant wasn't punished for losing the money. He didn't gamble it away or spend it on himself. He gave it all back — every coin. And he was condemned. Why?
Because he did nothing. He let fear of failure become an excuse for inaction. He told himself a story about who his master was — "you're harsh, you're unreasonable" — and used that story to justify burying what he'd been given. The problem wasn't his capacity. The problem was his refusal to risk anything at all.
There's a version of this that's easy to recognize: the person who never starts because they're afraid of getting it wrong. The gift you never develop, the conversation you never have, the calling you never step into — not because you couldn't, but because playing it safe felt more comfortable than the possibility of failing. is saying: playing it safe isn't safe.
The were done. Now pulled back the curtain on something much bigger. No more "it's like..." — this was direct:
"When the Son of Man comes in his glory, and all the Angels with him, he will sit on his glorious throne. Every nation will be gathered before him, and he will separate people from one another the way a shepherd separates sheep from goats. The sheep he will place on his right. The goats on his left."
The scale of this is staggering. Every nation. Every person. One throne. One King. One separation. This isn't a metaphor anymore — this is the end of the story that everything else is building toward. And the basis of that separation is going to surprise everyone in the room.
"Then the King will say to those on his right: 'Come, you who are blessed by my Father. Inherit the kingdom that has been prepared for you since the foundation of the world.
For I was hungry and you gave me food. I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink. I was a stranger and you welcomed me. I was naked and you clothed me. I was sick and you visited me. I was in prison and you came to me.'"
And here's where it gets extraordinary:
"The righteous will answer, 'Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you? Or thirsty and give you a drink? When did we see you as a stranger and welcome you, or naked and clothe you? When did we see you sick or in prison and visit you?'
And the King will answer them: 'I tell you the truth — whatever you did for one of the least of these, my brothers and sisters, you did for me.'"
Read that again. The people on his right didn't know they were serving him. They weren't keeping score. They weren't performing for an audience. They just saw a hungry person and made a meal. They saw a stranger and opened a door. They saw someone locked up and showed up anyway. And says: that was me. Every time. I was there.
That reframes everything. Every person you overlook, every need you walk past, every "that's not my problem" moment — Jesus is saying he's on the other side of it. The isn't built in grand gestures. It's built in the things no one else notices.
This is the part where the passage gets quiet. Heavy. Let it be.
"Then he will say to those on his left: 'Depart from me, you who are cursed, into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels.
For I was hungry and you gave me nothing to eat. I was thirsty and you gave me nothing to drink. I was a stranger and you didn't welcome me. I was naked and you didn't clothe me. I was sick and in prison and you didn't visit me.'
They will answer: 'Lord, when did we see you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or naked or sick or in prison, and didn't help you?'
And he will answer: 'I tell you the truth — whatever you did not do for one of the least of these, you did not do for me.'
And these will go away into eternal punishment, but the righteous into eternal life."
Both sides asked the same question: When did we see you? Neither group realized what was happening in the moment. The difference wasn't awareness — it was action. One group saw need and responded. The other saw need and didn't.
There's no theological trick here. No fine print. No secret knowledge that separates the two. Just this: did you see the person in front of you, and did you do something about it? That's the question the King asks. Not what you believed in theory. Not what you posted about. Not what you meant to do. What you actually did — for the people who couldn't do anything for you in return.
The whole chapter builds to this. Be ready. Be faithful. Be present to the people around you. Because the King is coming. And he's been watching from places you never expected.